The Sky Comes Crashing Down
by iiridescence
Summary: One barn, one angry ghost, and one hurt little brother. Hurt!Sam, Awesome!Dean, and a whole bunch of angsty brotherly love. Rated T for violence and swearing.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** It was supposed to be any easy job, but really, is that even a thing? Not for the Winchesters.

 **Disclaimer:** Sadly, not mine.

 **A/N:** Hi! This is my first time posting a story and I hope you guys enjoy it. I was going to make this a one-shot, but heck, I like where it's headed. Just some good old hurt!Sam and awesome!Dean. Reviews are welcome and much appreciated :)

 **Rated T for violence and a lil bit of swearing.**

* * *

Dean swept a hand through his short brown hair and sighed. His little brother was dragging his feet behind him, his hazel eyes clouded. He looked like a mess. At only 17, he had hit a freakish growth spurt but he still didn't completely fit into his body yet, making him lanky as hell. His hair was getting ridiculously mop-looking.

Dean felt for the kid, he really did. Him and dad had been at it again, and their father had slammed the motel door, heading off for the bar in town, leaving them to do the job by themselves. Dean didn't mind, though. He'd never admit it to a single soul, but he enjoyed his little brother's company.

The nature of the job was pretty simple; one hike to a desolate, deserted barn, one ghost to gank, and voila, job done.

"You comin' or what, Samantha?"

The kid glared at him, muttering something under his breath about annoying older brothers. Dean smirked, stepping over a root on the forest floor and shoving a handful of peanut m&ms into his mouth. He shoved the empty bag into his pocket.

The day was grey, clouds obscuring any view of the sun. It was October, and a thin layer of frost covered the ground. Dean was grateful for the warmth his precious leather jacket provided. He breathed out softly through his mouth and stared as his breath hovered for a moment before vanishing.

The barn winked into existence, standing alone in a grassy field. The brothers left the cover of the trees and tread cautiously towards the building. The barn looked eerie out here by itself, in the middle of friggin _nowhere_ , and the sun was beginning to set in the sky. Dean would rather be anywhere but here, but they had a job to do.

With Sam behind him, he approached the front of the barn, staring at the wooden structure. It was brown and dull, chipped and completely abandoned. Dean couldn't help wondering why someone would build a barn _here._ There was nothing around for miles except for dead, frosty grass and a forest looming on the edges of the clearing.

Although he'd never understood people to begin with, or their reasons for doing stuff. The ghost had been skewering people that had come exploring the barn on a dare. The ghost itself was rumoured to be a Ms. Eliza Weiser, whose husband had apparently brutally murdered her with an an axe before burying her body in the barn. 50 years later, some idiotic kids on a pre-Halloween dare disrupted her peace and she came back with a vengeance.

So, this led to Dean dragging his little brother on a ghost hunt when he _could_ have been grabbing numbers at the local bar. The pretty blonde chick serving drinks had been shooting him looks non-stop the other night. He wondered what was under that shirt -

" _Dean,_ " Sam grumbled, dragging his brother's thoughts out of the gutter. "The front door is wide open."

He was right. The wooden door rocked back and forth on its hinges, but there was no wind.

Flicking on his flashlight, the elder brother cautiously made his way into the building, gun drawn. He did an eye-sweep of the room, but it appeared empty. Maybe they'd gotten lucky and the ghost was having a good day.

That was until he saw flash out of the corner of his eye and Sam went flying.

" _Dean!"_

" _Sammy!"_

Dean was thrown backwards by the ghost, her white dress stained red. Her face was filthy, and her dead eyes were full of anger. She looked young; twenties, maybe. Her face was illuminated by the red sky filtering through the open door, the sun setting fast.

" _I loved him,_ " she growled, wrapping a surprisingly powerful hand around Dean's throat. Reaching for his shotgun, he blasted her and with an angry scream she dispersed.

"Sam?"

No response. Grabbing the flashlight he'd dropped, he shone the beam around, looking for a fallen sasquatch.

Finally it landed on Sam. Dean sprinted over to him, gently placing two fingers on the side of his neck and breathed in a sigh of relief at finding a pulse. His brother's eyes were still closed though, and he was starting to worry.

"C'mon kiddo, she's _real_ pissed now. I gotta go look for the bones, but I don't wanna leave you here. Time to wakey wakey."

Sam didn't so much as twitch. He had a nasty laceration on the side of his head that blood was seeping from. Dean was torn between carrying the kid out of here or burning the bitch's bones, but he knew he couldn't leave the job unfinished or more people would die. Sam would tell him the same thing.

His breath fogged in front of him yet again, and he spun around, blasting the fugly bitch with his shotgun again. Swearing under his breath, he shone his flashlight around the barn.

 _Come on, come on…_

 _If I were a crazy murderer, where would I hide my wife's bones?  
_ There.

Up in the loft, there was a pile and once the flashlight hit it, it was revealed to be bones. Dean took another look at his Sam, heart breaking, and raced up the creaky wooden steps to the loft. Sifting through his pockets, he pulled out his lighter and lighter fluid. He doused the bones, but as he was about to drop the lighter, jump down the stairs, grab his brother and get the hell out of Dodge, he heard the ghost's voice.

" _I loved him, you know. I was a good wife, and he hurt me. Why shouldn't I hurt others, too? Humans are monsters."_

Dean's heart nearly leapt out of his chest.

Eliza was holding his brother in a chokehold, Sam's feet dangling inches above the ground. His eyes blinked open in panic, and he gasped for air that never reached his lungs.

 _Shit! What the hell was he supposed to do?_ The bitch had _Sam._

"Let him go," he growled dangerously. He flicked the lighter on to prove a point. The flames flickered eerily in the breeze wafting through the barn.

" _I have nothing left to lose."_

Dean noticed the pitchfork too late.

Just as the flame reached the bones, the pitchfork slammed into Sam's upper thigh.

The ghost vanished with a scream of pain, but that wasn't important to Dean.

His kid brother was, and he was in a shitload of trouble.

 **"** ** _Sammy, no!"_**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I'm sorry for not updating in so long, I've been super super busy! I hope you all had a good Christmas etc :) and I hope you'll like this update!**

 **Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own them.**

* * *

As the ghost vanished, Sam dropped to the ground.

God, he was in so much pain. His leg felt like it was on fire, and his head was throbbing. He landed hard on his side, feeling his wrist break underneath him.

He wasn't sure how long he blacked out. Maybe it was only for a couple of seconds, but he was jolted into consciousness by his frantic brother shaking his shoulder.

"Sam! Sammy! You gotta stay awake, buddy. We gotta get outta here."

"... De'?"

"Yeah, kiddo, it's me. You gotta help me out here, man, you're too heavy to carry."

He felt Dean lift him up gently, and that's when he smelled smoke. Blinking, he stared at the flames licking up the wood, coming from the loft. _Shit._

He glanced down at his leg, and blanched at the pitchfork. He knew the other end of the prongs had pierced through the other side. The prongs were vertical, and as he realized all three spikes went through his bone, his eyes rolled back in his head and everything went dark.

* * *

Shit, this just wasn't their day.

The kid was out cold, and Dean was terrified. Blood was steadily seeping from Sam's leg, and his face was losing colour. His wrist was beginning to bruise and ugly purple.

Dean's back straining under Sam's weight, he carried him outside bridal style, the whole ride cursing himself and muttering apologies to his brother.

Setting Sam down, mindful of the _fucking pitchfork,_ he cried. Dean Winchester fucking _cried._

Because they were in the middle of nowhere, Sam was hurt bad, and their dad was pissed at them. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't remove the pitchfork, he couldn't contact their dad for help –

There was only one solution.

He had to carry his brother out of here.

Oh god, this was going to suck.

* * *

Sam wasn't really aware of anything besides a burning sensation flooding through his veins.

He tried to call out for someone, something, _anything,_ but no sound came out besides a pained grunt, and he was shocked to realize it was his own.

"Shit, sorry buddy," came Dean's voice, tinged with fear.

"Wha-"

He was being carried. Strong arms wrapped around him, and they shook, but whether it was from overexertion or plain terror, Sam couldn't tell.

His head was so fuzzy he thought he might puke. As he held back a scream of pain, he felt Dean start to walk faster. Where were they?

"We're almost to the car, kiddo, I promise…"

They were in the forest. Sam's head leaned back against his brother's leather jacket, and he was comforted by the smell of cheap aftershave, beer and gunpowder. He could almost feel the fear radiating from Dean, and he wondered how badly he was injured this time.

The trees rolled by, nauseating his stomach. Green leaves blurred his vision and he fought the urge to pass out again. His leg and wrist were sending waves of agony through him.

"Take it out," he whispered, fighting back tears. "Take it _out_. De, please…"

"No can do, bro. You'll bleed out in seconds. We'll getcha to a hospital and they'll patch you up. You're gonna be fine, Sammy."

Sam, on the other hand, wasn't so sure. What if they had to amputate his leg? What if he got sepsis? What if-

" _Sam!"_

A shake to his shoulder woke him from his stupor. He stared blankly at the night sky, and he shivered. Whether from blood loss, fever, or plain fear, he couldn't tell. Dean's arms were shaking around him, and his big brother's breaths were ragged. Sam knew he wasn't out of shape; he was just frightened. Hell, he'd hardly ever seen Dean this worried before.

His brother was muttering to himself as Sam swayed in his arms. "Can't contact Dad, he doesn't know where we are, no way to call for help… _damn it!_ "

After a moment of darkness, Sam opened his eyes to find himself staring up at the ceiling of the Impala, choking out a sigh of relief. He was shaking hard now, and Dean wrapped a blanket tightly around him. Pain overtook him, and he knew no more.

* * *

Dean threw himself into the driver's side, slamming the door and swerving his head to check on his little brother. Swearing at the fact he was unconscious again, the older Winchester threw the Impala into drive and tore out of dirt lot at the edge of the forest. He made in it onto the highway and started heading to the nearest hospital in record time.

Sam hated hospitals; hell, Dean did too, but he knew sometimes they were unavoidable. He could treat a lot of things, but _pitchforks_ weren't exactly on that list. There was a chance of blood poisoning, or Sam bleeding out, or -

Shaking his head, he tried to filter out all the thoughts of losing his brother, but he felt hopeless. At the hospital came into view, he hopped out and opened the back door, gently grabbing Sam in his arms.

"It's okay, buddy, we're going to get you help…"

He felt sick at the sight of the blood on Sam, and him. The kid didn't deserve this life. He wouldn't hurt a goddamn fly. He thought that Sam's blood might remained stained his mind as long as he lived. If Sam didn't make it, that wouldn't be very long.

Running into the ER, he yelled for help. A team of nurses ran over to him, one calling out for a gurney.

"Sir? Sir, can you tell us your name?"

Momentarily taken aback, he had to shake his head to bring himself back to reality. "Yeah, yeah, I'm Dean… Folland, and that's my brother Sam."

"Can you tell us what happened to him?"

"We were, uh, playing around in an old barn in the woods. He f-fell off the loft, and landed on the pitchfork. I think he broke his wrist too."

He hoped the nurse would believe his bullshit story. She was a pretty young thing, with dark blonde hair and kind brown eyes. Another time, Dean would have hit on her, tried to get in bed with her, but he was scared shitless about Sam.

"Is he going to be okay?" he asked roughly, but the nurse was gone, tagging along with the doctors and Sam's gurney that were rushing down a hallway. Dean's blood went cold.

" _He's crashing!"_

Dean was terrified.

He couldn't lose his brother... or he'd lose himself, too.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I'm updating this quick because I feel awful about taking so long last time. This chapter will be entirely in Sam's POV. If you have any requests for fics, feel free to send some in! I'd love to have prompts for other stories :)

* * *

The sound of beeping was what woke me up.

Blinking open my eyes, I was staring at the ugly white of a hospital ceiling. I panicked for a moment, completely forgetting what the _hell had happened_ , until I saw my brother in the chair next to the bed, passed out. His head was resting against the wall, and it looked like he needed a shave. He had dark bags under his eyes, and was still wearing the coat and t-shirt he'd been wearing at the barn…

 _The barn._

Oh, God.

I shuddered, and winced at the pain in my leg. I tried to sit up and get a good look, but groaned in pain. Deciding that wasn't a good idea yet, I laid my head back down on the lumpy pillow but Dean had noticed me.

"Sam? Sammy, you with me?"

I nodded, and suddenly noticed my throat was horribly dry. Dean, noticing my discomfort, reached for a glass of water on the bedside table.

"I thought you might need this," he told me. "You've been out two days, kiddo."

Taking the cup with my injured arm, I sipped from the blue straw and almost moaned with pleasure at the cool liquid quenching my thirst.

Handing the cup back to my brother, I looked at him seriously. Setting the cup down, he pulled the chair next to my bed and sat back down, but leaned forward and rested his elbows on the railing of my bed.

"Do you remember what happened?"

I searched for the right words.

"Ghost… Hunt… Uh, pitchfork?"

My leg felt a twinge of pain at the word.

Dean nodded and let out a long exhale.

"It's funny, you know."

I nearly cut him off asking him _how_ this was funny, but he held up a hand to continue.

"Dad trained us in a lot of first aid. Bullet wounds, broken bones, _dislocated_ bones, stitches, you name it. But I never in my damn life thought I'd have to deal with a friggin pitchfork stickin' out of my little brother's body."

I nodded, and he kept on.

"Sammy, you scared the hell outta me." His voice was rough, and I knew he was pushing down emotions and fighting the urge to cry. Dean rarely _ever_ cried.

"Your leg was messed, man. Bullet wounds in a leg might be a walk in the park, but the fork… It hit an artery; the only reason you didn't bleed out is because the fork was pluggin' the hole. The bone was shattered. They lost you for a minute, Sammy."

I took a moment to digest the information, and a moment of pure panic washed over me.

"It's still _there,_ right? They didn't-"

"Nah, your leg's still there, Sasquatch. But you're lucky. The wrist is a clean break though; should heal up good in a month."

Nodding slowly, I almost drifted back to sleep, but I had to know.

"Have you told Dad?"

Even though my eyes were closed and I couldn't see his facial expression, I could tell Dean was anxious.

"Yeah, he's on his way."

I wasn't expecting that. Opening my eyes again, I pushed myself upright against the pillow with my good arm.

"Dean, the last thing the man said to me…"

"I know, dude, I know, but Dad didn't mean it. You know he didn't."

"He sounded pretty serious when he told me I was a waste of space."

"He was just pissed you two were fightin' again. Hell, I was mad too, I hate you guys going at it. He's over it. He's just worried about you, Sammy."

I couldn't believe it. Dean never talked about stuff like this; he wanted to avoid the "chick flick moments." But, I was never the good little soldier Dad wanted me to be, and it drove our family apart. I didn't want this life.

Closing my eyes, I drifted off again, but not before I heard Dean whisper, "I need you, kiddo. Don't scare me like this again."

Dad's voice lured me out of sleep what seemed like a few hours later. I could hear him arguing with Dean, and my heart twisted with guilt. If I hadn't screwed up the hunt, they wouldn't be like this, and I knew it was all my fault.

I tried to pretend I was still asleep, but a tear unintentionally rolled down my cheek, and my father missed nothing.

"Sam? You awake, tiger?"

Opening my eyes, I looked into his guiltily and sat up gingerly.

"Dad, I'm sorry-"

Before I could finish, he had bent over and wrapped me in a hug.

"Son, I'm just glad you're alright."

And that's when I knew he wasn't angry; he was relieved I was going to be okay. I guess I had scared them more than I thought, and I tried to push away the self-hatred I felt.

"You ready to bust outta here, Sammy?"

I couldn't help a small chuckle as Dean walked back into the room, pushing a wheelchair in front of him.

I smiled to myself as my brother went on about the lack of hot nurses; our family was messed up, sure, but we were there for each other through thick and thin.

Maybe everything would be alright after all.

 **A/N: Well, that's the end. I hope you enjoyed it! Thank you for the lovely reviews and such :)**


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